“You can? How quick? I got thirteen hours to show up or they march.”
Arel pushed himself up from the bunk, his prosthetic arms whirring softly with the motion. “Then we’d better get to work.”
Jarin gazed out the sloped windows of Maryel’s office, which overlooked the grounds of the Guild compound. She certainly had not needed to upgrade her work space in the aftermath of her assumption of executive authority—the Aimaz name, and her seniority, had long ago guaranteed her an extravagant amount of room, enough to comfortably house six citizens in the lower levels.
He didn’t come by often. The secrecy of their liaison was perhaps another affectation of his admittedly conspiratorial nature, but they protected that illusion as best they could. As such, his previous visits had been purely professional in nature.
Now, however, he was answering a summons.
The door cycled open and Maryel entered, comm pressed to her ear. “No, inform the City Assembly that they will attend us in the evening session in three days, and they had best approach with corrected attitudes if they wish to retain their positions.”
With an irritated sigh she thumbed the comm off and threw it on her desk, then turned and waved at the small constellation of caj who followed her. “Wait outside.”
Jarin stepped away from the window and offered her a polite nod. “Senior Theorist.”
“Jarin, don’t waste my time. I have insufficient quantities as it is.”
“Then let’s come to the reason you called me here, if you please,” Jarin said.
“Raider’s Quarter. Last night. Two logged de-pops, suspected CWA assets. Freelance raiders, presently unemployed so far as we knew, beyond the suspected CWA tie,” Maryel sat and loosened her collar. She tapped the icon to bring her desk display to life.
“Routine operation,” Jarin said.
“The report is sparse. Why did we choose to kill these People last night?” Maryel asked, raising her eyes to meet Jarin’s.
“They were surveilling Pilot Shan Welkin, late of Segkel’s employ.”
“I expect many people are watching anyone formerly affiliated with Eraranat right now. Why the kill?”
Jarin cleared his throat as he considered his answer. “Pilot Welkin received a message, I believe from Segkel.”
Maryel shot to her feet. “Eraranat is alive?”
“Not confirmed, but I believe so.”
“And you didn’t inform me? For how long?” Maryel slapped a hand on the desk.
“I had no confir—”
“How long?” Maryel’s voice cut into him.
“Fifteen hours.”
“We are not operating as before, Jarin. This is it, the single and sole warning I will deliver. You are used to running your own demesne within the Guild, but now it is all on my shoulders and I need my intelligence in a timely fashion, not when you choose to dispense or withhold it.”
Jarin bristled, his shoulders rose. “If you wish my resignation—”
“Don’t be childish! Damn you, this is too important for ego and you know it.”
Jarin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course it would come to this. He had known from the moment she’d had to take the position of Grand Selectee, and if she had done any less he wouldn’t have respected her enough to love her as he did. He opened his eyes and nodded to her. “I apologize and I understand, Senior Theorist. Full details will be forwarded to you promptly and in the future I will perform my duties as you need and require.”
Her face softened momentarily before she blanked it to dispassion. “That will be all, Senior Theorist Svestil.”
Everyone looked up as Tirnich entered the small command post, but Seg could already guess the news from the boy’s glum expression.
“No comm yet, Lieutenant.”
“Start packing the gear,” Fismar said.
“Quick as three, sir.” Tirnich turned and trotted away.
Fismar looked back at the others—Seg, Ama, Cerd, and Viren. “Forty minutes until we put sand under our boots, people.”
“Can’t we give her more time?” Ama asked Seg. “The rider needed work but if Shan got your comm, she’ll come. I know it.”
He wanted to agree, if only to maintain his newly-established peace with Ama, but he once more had fifty Kenda lives to consider. Thankfully, Fismar made the decision before it fell to him.
“We’ve got a lot of people here who are fond of drinking water.” Fismar tapped the canister hooked to his hip. “And as much as I enjoy recycling, I think everybody’ll be a lot happier when we can get some fresh. Not to mention, if some Wellie cracks that coded comm, it’ll lead them right to us.”
“But one more day?” Ama asked. “Viren?”
“Oh, I think the lieutenant is completely correct.” Viren crossed his arms over his chest.
Cerd glanced at Viren. “Well. If he and I actually agree on something—”
“Yes, a brilliant plan, marching into a hostile desert with a handful of weapons and rations, with men who are used to forest and water and have barely learned which way to point their chacks, in the vain hope of—”
“Viren,” Fismar said. His voice was low but there was no mistaking the rancor behind it. “If that’s your contribution to proceedings, you can go assist Elarn with medical. As a permanent assignment.”
“Viren has a point,” Ama said. “We don’t know what’s out there. Once we leave, we’re easy targets. And there’s no coming back. You said that yourself, Lieutenant. Maybe Shan ran into trouble, but she’ll get here.”
“Pilot Welkin would never back down from a challenge,” Viren said.
“Enough,” Seg said. “This is my group, my decision. The lieutenant has the best plan and if we’re going to survive we need discipline. From everyone.” He pushed off the rock he leaned against, and cast his gaze over the entire group. “Is that clear?”
There was a moment of silence before everyone assented. Ama met his eyes—this discussion, for them, was not over.
“Thirty-two minutes,” Seg said. “Lieutenant, attend to the troops.”
“On it,” Fismar said. “Cerd, Viren, with me.” He gave Viren a dark glare as they walked away.
“This is a mistake,” Ama said once the others had departed.
“We are on a razor’s edge, Ama,” Seg said. “Every moment of delay is a moment when we could be found by our enemies. Welkin is a poor bet right now; we’ll give her the time allotted and no more. And that idiot Viren will have to be replaced.”
“At least he was honest.”
“He was insubordinate.”
“What chance do we really have out there?” Ama pointed to the yawning wastes outside.
“Lay down in the sand and die, or make what we can with what we have. Those are your options, so choose.” Seg gathered his gear as he spoke. “Did I ever promise you an easy path?”
“On my world, you came back for me. That wasn’t the logical choice.”
Seg slid the equipment harness over his shoulders. “So we should wait for Shan? Because sometimes we operate illogically? When I came back for you, it was only my life I risked. But here I have more than you and me to consider, as I keep pointing out. There’s no magical fate that protects us, and we have to take the best measures to survive as long as we can. It’s not what I thought it would be, but I’m not going to waste time mourning the ideal circumstances.”
“The right decision isn’t always the one that makes sense. Sometimes you have to have faith.”
“Faith won’t save us,” Seg muttered.
“It saved me.” She took a deep breath, and he saw her flinch, as if an old wound had re-opened. “In processing, faith kept me from breaking.”
His fingers stopped on the buckle he had been fastening. His voice sof
tened and he placed a hand on Ama’s shoulder. “I’m glad, and thankful. But, gods and superstitions—”
“I’m not talking about Nen!” Ama pulled away and the still-raw pain filled her eyes. “I found faith in myself, that’s how I survived. And, now, I have faith in Shan. She will get here. I believe.”
She strode past him and didn’t look back.
Seg glanced out at her retreating shadow, then fell back against the rock. “Damn it.” He flexed his hands and reached up to unpin the piece of tarp that covered the command post.
Viren trudged through the camp in silence. Lieutenant Korth had unleashed his fury at his insubordination away from the others, not that he cared. He was quiet now because the lieutenant had made it clear that he would be left behind if he did not keep his tongue in check. Specifically: Shut your mouth, get your damn gear, and get ready to move when I karging say so!
His damn gear was at the far end of their small enclave, right next to the last person he wanted to see at this moment, Mascom Cerd Jind.
As he approached, Viren watched Cerd’s fingers trace along his rifle. Cerd’s eyes made the checks Lieutenant Korth had drilled them on so thoroughly, back when their arms consisted of pipes and cans.
Cerd had proved to be a competent and obedient soldier, one who blindly followed the lieutenant’s orders. Ordinarily, loyalty was a quality Viren respected. He would have followed any order Brin delivered with equal or greater enthusiasm, but Brin had earned his trust over years, not months.
And, if he were honest, Brin was Kenda, and that still meant something. Even here.
Cerd slung the weapon over his shoulder and turned to face Viren. He didn’t speak, simply stared darkly at his junior.
Viren met Cerd’s stare and his mouth twisted into a humorless grin. “Guess it’s easy for you.” He pushed past him to retrieve the contents of his kit.
“It’s always easier when you use your brain more than your mouth,” Cerd said. “What you did back there, challenging the lieutenant in front of his superior, undercuts us all and would see a crewman lashed on the Big Water.”
“What I was doing—” Viren stood and stepped forward until he was a finger’s length from Cerd. “—was trying to keep our brothers alive. But what would a pirate care about the lives of his fellow Kenda, hey?”
“Your thinking is murked, brother. We’re not there anymore. I’m not Cerd the pirate and you’re not Viren the cad. You’ve still got one foot on the old shore and until you take the last step, you’re going to be more danger than help to these men. They love you because you’re simple, foolish, and irresponsible, and you encourage the same in them. If I’d had my way, you wouldn’t be allowed to lead anything; you would’ve been left behind on that world with your cards and your whores.”
“My cards and whores saved lives. Where do you think the rebellion was born? In the gutters, with the likes of me. Brin’s no fool, which is why you’re standing before me now, breathing and talking as if you have a right to do either. But he didn’t know your kind the way I did. He didn’t watch his father’s ships burn, his cargo looted, his spirit broken.” Viren lowered his voice and narrowed his eyes. “Run to as many worlds as you like, you’ll always be a pirate. Tell me, this sense of honor and duty, where was it when you robbed and murdered your way along the Rift?”
Cerd didn’t blink. “What do you want from me, Viren? You want me to get down on my knees and beg your forgiveness?”
“That would be a good start.”
“I paid for my crimes.”
“Two years behind the walls is hardly—”
“Prison? You think I care about prison?” Cerd laughed harshly, then his dark eyes hardened and it was as if a black cloud rolled over his face. When he spoke again, his voice dropped an octave. “We’re done here. Get your gear ready and get moving. That’s an order.”
Viren looked Cerd over and his mouth twitched. “Yes, Mascom.”
“One kargin’ piece of junk to another,” Shan muttered under her breath, as she inspected the rider Arel had rented. At least this one could fly. According to Bon Trant, that was. Then again, Arel’s uncle looked about as reliable as the equipment littering the salvage yard.
“So let me get this straight,” she said as she climbed into the open cockpit. “We’re using the locked-out, soon-to-be-seized, worthless rider to rent this rider?”
From the personnel deck, in the rear of the rider, Arel called back to her. “That’s correct. Cathind Civic Code is a mess. It’s been rewritten continuously for hundreds of years. In the case of an out-of-town creditor, locked-out properties can be used as collateral for loans at up to fifteen percent value. Of course, as soon as this crosses the CWA’s scan, they’ll buy the debt and probably move to hold for arbitration. You need to be in the air before then.”
In the cockpit window’s reflection, she could see him winding his way through the stacks of supplies, tugging the straps to ensure they were secure.
“Uncle Bon got everything stowed. It’s nowhere near what Eraranat wanted, but it’s all that we could get delivered and loaded in this timeframe.” He had changed into his combat utilities, the camouflage set to Wasteland Standard, and a battered chack was slung over his shoulder.
“Yep, well,” Shan flipped a switch, frowned, and banged the console until a blue light appeared. “Long as I hit sky before they figure out all your scrip-snatcher tricks, that’s what matters.” She slipped a digifilm into the terminal port to upload Eraranat’s coordinates and turned to face Arel. “I know you’re probably used to flying cargo with the rest of the meat, but you might as well ride in the copie seat for this. Long as you don’t touch anything.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine back here,” he said. “Anyway, flying always scares the karg out of me and I figured you wouldn’t want me puking in your lap.”
“Good call.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing something? You’re already late.”
“Easy, sand stomper. Sky riding’s a lot more complex than—” She stopped and reached for her pistol. “Karg.”
Arel looked up from the harness he was strapping himself into. “What?”
“Wellies.” Shan jerked her chin to indicate the gate of the salvage yard, where a cluster of armored troopers were rapidly approaching, then spun and dropped into the pilot’s seat. “Karg, karg, karg!” Her hands flew across the console. “How’d they get on us so quick? Storm take me, I thought you said we had at least a day?”
“The CWA has some of the best financiaries in the World. I thought this would get by them for a while longer. Guess it didn’t.” He struggled free of the harness and ran to the cockpit to peer out the window. “The gate’s holding them for now.” He turned to climb out, then stopped long enough to grab Shan’s arm. “Listen, part of securing this loan was to put you into the ownership chain. You’re now debt-liable for this operation if they can’t collect Eraranat. So—”
“I’m what?”
“—don’t let them take you. I’ll keep them busy. Get this rider in the air and get to him!”
“What did you do to me?”
Arel didn’t bother to answer. He hurried down the small ladder, dropped to the ground, and took off toward the gate at a dead run.
That’s all she needed, a legal tie to the boss’s mess. She unclasped the harness, leaned over, and tugged the access window closed before beginning the pre-flight sequence. As the rider powered to life, she slapped down the visor on her helmet.
The sound of a single shot sent her racing heart into a sprint. She turned her head to see, through the cockpit window, Arel and his uncle with hands in the air. The armored troops were pouring through the recently locked gate at the entrance, weapons raised.
And they were running in her direction.
“SHIT!” Shan punched a button and waited for the tellta
le rumble of the engines. Nothing. “WORK, YOU SHIT-LICKING, WHORE OF A—”
With a begrudging cough, the engines fired to life. A trickle of sweat flowed down the back of Shan’s neck. She reached for the fan interlock.
She had time. She could make it.
“Eat that, you brainless sacks of—”
Shan’s farewell was interrupted by a loud sputter. The engine’s roar ceased and she stared in horror as the console went black. She lunged for the digifilm bearing Eraranat’s coordinates but without power it was stuck fast in the terminal post.
Another look out the cockpit window confirmed the worst: the troopers were almost on her. Not only could she be held responsible, and likely grafted, for the boss’s debt, but she would also be handing the CWA a map to his exact location.
“KARG!” She smashed both fists on the console, then jabbed at the ignition button. The compeller ground and squealed but refused to engage.
Now she could hear the clomp of boots over the grind of the compeller.
“SHIT!”
Ama raised her canteen but didn’t drink. Fourteen hours, Fismar had said. Fourteen hours across the wasteland to the first oasis, with every expectation of hostile confrontation at the end. Marching to war for a drop of water. She could scarcely believe it.
They were fifty-four bodies in total, stretched out single file, every one of them at the ready. Tirnich and his squad led the pack, with Fismar nearby. She walked somewhere in the middle, Cerd in front of her, Seg behind. Close behind Seg, Elarn helped Kype along. His wound was closed but far from healed; his auto-med pumped a steady stream of drugs to keep him moving. Viren, who had fallen well out of favor with Fismar, marched at the very end of the procession.
She clipped the canteen back on her belt and tilted her head skyward—empty. No Storm, but no Shan either. Then she swept her gaze across the land, which, with the exception of random clumps of boulders, was also empty. Fismar had done his best to teach them about the hazards of this terrain—how to spot the breathing tubes of the lurkiya that hunted below ground; where not to sit or stand, to avoid the camouflaged predators; the steps to take if Storm signs appeared. But she also knew that even hardened, experienced raiders did not step lightly into these lands. How well would a bunch of water dwellers do out here?
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